Thursday, September 12, 2013

Curry and Coconut and Cumin. Oh My!

Over the past few years I've enjoyed most of what Ballast Point has put out. Their rums are amazing, and the vast majority of their beers are excellent.

I don't even remember where I picked up this bottle of Indra Kunindra. I think it was in North Carolina at Triangle Wine Company, a great couple of stores in the Raleigh area. All I know is that I never really paid attention to what all was in the beer. I just knew that a limited release Ballast Point had a very good chance of being good stuff. I wasn't disappointed.

Originally this beer was produced for the 46th anniversary of Holiday Wine Cellar, my favorite liquor store in Escondido, CA. Most know Escondido because of Stone Brewing, but I would argue that Holiday Wine Cellar should be a destination too. When I visited they offered me a sample of Lemon Hart 151 after I explained that I hadn't tried the new version after Lemon Hart pulled out of the United States market and then returned. The building itself fascinated me, with its funky mid century architecture, and when I walked inside I was blown away at how much awesome they packed into one small building. I could move into the wine cellar and be a very happy boy.

But enough about liquor stores. I'm here to talk about this beer.

I'm in the middle of a marathon rewrite session, trying to get my first and second book rewritten so I can begin submitting to publishers. By the end of today I needed a beer. This was the one I dragged out of the refrigerator.




I opened the bottle, still not having completely read the label, and poured it into my Great Divide snifter. As I poured I noted that it looked more like a porter. Not as thick or dark as a stout, it had little to no head and seemed quite watery. I was prepared to be underwhelmed.

Boy was I wrong. Lifting it up to my olfactory appendage I got huge notes of coconut. They don't even tout this beer as a coconut beer, like Stone does with their not-so-great R&R Coconut IPA. The text on the bottle that describes the ingredients is tiny. Crazy tiny for these old eyes. I still hadn't read it.

Then I took a big ol' swig and my tongue blew up. What the hell had just happened? My mouth was confused. I was transported straight to a place I'd never been. I assumed it was India, and I might have been right given that they called this an India-Style Export Stout. It might have just been Sitar (the best Indian food in Knoxville) but it didn't matter to me. Insanity is all I can say about this beer. I grabbed the bottle and read the fine print and immediately recognized the flavors I was getting. There was so much going on it was hard to single them out, but with the help of the list, I was able to do so.



Coconut. Cumin. A huge dollop of curry and a serious dose of cayenne pepper. Though not listed, I also got a bit of chocolate, but that's not so unusual in darker beers.

It was like I'd filled my mouth with vegetable pakora and tandoori chicken, minus the vegetables and chicken. My mouth was in ecstasy and my throat was on fire. I love Indian food, and I loved this beer.

This, seriously and without extraneous hyperbole, had to be the most challenging beer I've ever poured in my mouth. As it warmed the flavors melded even more. I finally began to smell the Kaffir lime, but only slightly. The heat slowly disappeared, but the curry flavor never went away.

I'd be very interested to see what this beer would be like if they went to an Imperial style. As it is right now, it's an export stout. I've never been all that fond of export style stout, as it's usually not very complex, but I must say that if all export stouts were like this I'd be drinking them on a regular basis. An Imperial would be terrifyingly exciting.

Currently a couple of stores in North Carolina have this beer in stock, so I'm going to have to see what I can do to get more. I could drink this with a big ol' helping of naan bread and just be one happy guy all evening. A liquid visit to one of my favorite local restaurants? I'm in.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Black, like his noir soul

The Traveler knew that there was a need for such a libation. Speakeasy's Payback Smoked Porter. Black, burnt and bitter, just like the souls of the women he had scorned so many times in his youth. It had to be. He wasn't quite sure why he knew, but he did. Such a drink was supposed to happen. It was written in the stars, so with resignation he withdrew the bottle from the depths of the refrigerator and set it down on his desk. It stared back at him, glance askance, menace in its soul. Payback time.



Approaching the vessel with trepidation, he ripped off the cap, wincing in fear of what the repercussions might be for his actions. The sound of gas escaping from the bottle mirrored his gasp of shock.

When he poured the dark, angry liquid into a glass he was stunned at the thick, luscious, creamy head that billowed from the depths. Craggy, with big bubbles and even bigger promise, it teased him as it beckoned. "Drink me," it moaned. "Drink me and all your troubles will be erased."



As he lifted the snifter to his trembling, dry, cracked lips, his nose was assaulted by the acrid scent of burnt coffee and the warm, welcoming smell of the bitter chocolates his long lost love had been so fond of. It reminded him of the inevitably burnt wheat toast that she would serve him when she wanted to break from tradition and do breakfast in bed the morning after.

The cool, dark liquid poured over his tongue in a wave of thick, dark flavor, shocking his senses back from reverie. Coffee again. This time with maybe a touch of cream. The campfires of his youth, back when Boy Scouts was about learning to be men instead of a popularity contest.  Burnt malts and sugar. Things that remind one of youth as well as later years. This kind of beer might scare off new members of the beer cult. Not something to be trifled with, it challenged his every preconception of what a smoked porter should be.

As he drained the glass of its last dregs he reminisced on what he had just experienced and lamented the passing of such a wonderful liquid. Had he to do it all over again, he might perhaps take a little more time to get to know it on a whole other level. Perhaps spend a few more minutes plumbing the depths of everything it had to offer. But tonight it was not to be. First impressions are the most important in this sad, angry world we live in, and this first impression was one that would stick with him for a long, long time.